The Knight

't Was in the soft light of a misty morning that sir Mordimarty the Destroyer of Worlds, took a sip of 'is well earned jasmin tea. Glad and reluctant he was about the performances that night. Not man' would've withstood the 'nhuman challenges that he went through, for only his power and unbeknownst bravery...

Though through the mist forthbrought shortsight of glory shone a cold loss from the heavens, deep into the one muscle Mordimarty tried so rigorously to hide. The loss of 'is dear friend sir Brothbane o' Bellowriver, whose relation to Mordimarty 'ad always far succeeded that of a mere fellow. 't Was as though the heavens'd felt the losses' cold. For they shone color galore through morning mists to sooth earths 'ts mourn...

't Was in those moments that misery embarked on its solesome journey to mischievously devour Mordimarty's mighty multitudal mind, that woefully failed at the repelling of that low aspiration. Not the victory and contentment was in his willfull heart tha' moment, but shear pain 'n black gal confined the contours of 'is inner space. He remembered the way he and Brothbane o' Bellowriver courted alongside with the lady o' Barrowvich and the queen o' Guiradelle. In the cataclism of the ill-fated necessity (later called the accident of multidimensional ruin of worlds (in which Mordimarty may have had a most small yet undeniable role...)) these most venerable and beauteous ladies came to their underserved ends. The mourning that